Heaving
by NotHardlyCharlotte
Summary: There were days when Luella wondered if she hadn't lost both sons.


So I'm going to get right to the point. I have good news and bad news. The good news is that I'm posting this little one-shot, yay! The bad news is that this will probably be the last thing I post for the next few weeks. I have to send in my computer so they can hopefully fix this weird, sounds-like-it-might-explode noise or send me a new computer. So I will be hand-writing everything, then transferring it later. I am so sorry in advanced for my even crappier updating.

Anyway..

**Warnings: **some possible triggers of grief, but overall it shouldn't be _that_ bad...

Spoilers (duh): if you haven't read the manga or seen the anime...

Quick Note: This is a sort of prequel to Nature Boy, to explain why Naru came back sooner than most people would have him. If I remember correctly what I've written however, it can stand alone.

* * *

It was an old house, filled with little creaks and groans from the beams settling. Rarely did silence exist in her home, not just because the house itself breathed, but because she had two teenaged boys. Obscenely intelligent, mature, and focused boys, but _boys_ nonetheless. Noll disturbed the quiet with his scathing remarks and disinterested sighs while Gene chatted and bothered his 'little' brother. Occasionally one or both of them would stomp through the house, though usually it was one. Noll moved like a cat sometimes. She heard them whispering in the night, even across the hall. It was such a wonderful ruckus.

She'd _had_ two teenaged boys. The house was silent, except for its heaving. Noll had done what he'd left home to do, and he'd returned as he said he would, pressing a kiss to her forehead when they landed back on English soil. Two months today since the funeral, and everything was quiet.

There were days when Luella wondered if she hadn't lost both sons.

* * *

Her husband was holed up at the office, or in his study if she were lucky enough to have him home for more than four hours a night. Part of her wanted to speak with him again, and reassure herself that she was making the right decision. The other part looked for her son, her surviving son, her mind would viciously remind her, but he wasn't anywhere near. He'd taken to reading in the loft above the stable, curled amongst the hay bales as if he were seven instead of seventeen. When they were children, the boys would spend hours up there, dangling their feet over the edge while Noll practiced flipping a coin between his fingers. She wondered if he remembered. Probably.

Luella smiled to herself, even if it was forced. He hadn't cried, not since she'd met him, fell in love with him and brought him home. He'd never even been a little boy, not the way Gene was, all big wet eyes and hiccupped 'Mum's. That, she had been prepared for. Not a sullen little man turning his chin up at the world because the world regarded him as something unnatural. She'd learned every nuance about him just to feel like she even remotely understood him.

He was suffering. She saw it in the way he didn't quietly spark to life, in the flat dullness of his eyes. All their mourning, the process of tearing out your heart and choking on it, then the numbness, and the sparks of amusement and fondness that meant they were healing seemed pointless the moment Lin called with the news. All that energy exerted on getting up in the morning, only to choke again at the tangible proof. But Noll did not heal, she realized belatedly, and it was like a syringe of ice water plunged into her heart. He hadn't had time to grieve, even if he knew how. Luella had the overwhelming, deadening feeling that her son would always wear black.

She suddenly loathed the color.

"You've been standing there for about five minutes, Mother," a voice called from above, and a silly, hopeful part of her thought for a moment that it could be an angel. But angels didn't wear black.

He was right, she _had _been standing there for quite some time, utterly blind to her own arrival at the stables. She hadn't even noticed the lack of wind, or the leathery scent of the horses, or the feisty gelding they'd bought two years ago that still snorted and whinnied in his stall with righteous indignation. The air was warmer in here, without the gentle chill of the fall breezes. She still felt cold.

"I was looking for you, darling," she managed only after clearing her throat twice. Her voice was rough, probably from disuse. More likely from the lump of clay she'd apparently swallowed on the way down. "Let's have a chat, hm?"

He stared down at her from the hayloft, stark against the backdrop of warm wood and yellow light, making no move to come down or dismiss her. Deliberating whether he would comply or gently decline. Not that she'd give him the option. Before he could decide she started up the ladder.

"Be careful," he ordered sternly, but she knew it was surprise and concern that sharpened his tongue. Such blatant show of care garnered a smile from her.

They stood together for a moment, silent, pointedly avoiding each other's gaze. She wasn't one to lose her words, a trait which her son had adopted from her, when he bothered speaking. Yet she was clambering for them now, groping for them as one would for a hand in a haunted room. The self-doubt was back, along with that awful, miserable feeling. To have her son back, she'd have to let him go. Reaching across to grab his hand, she felt as if she were spanning a much wider distance. He was so far away from her, fingers limp beneath hers.

Luella would tear out her heart again, send it on a plane across the world if she could have her son close again. She would.

"Sit with me, darling." Her voice sounded choked to her. That was fine, though. Noll would react to her show of grief as he normally did, placating. She wasn't surprised when he complied without protest. Luella wrapped both hands around his, cradling it to her.

"Your flight leaves in two days. Enough time, I think, for you to pack and make arrangements." He was staring at the arm caught in her grip, blue eyes hard. Brow furrowed, jaw clenched. Silence. All the tell-tale signs of confusion.

"I don't recall discussing vacation plans with you," he tried, the suspicion plain in the deadpan of his voice.

"We're not going on holiday." He waited while she collected herself, face blank. "I want you here, I do. If I had my way you'd never leave me," she managed through a watery chuckle, looking to his long fingers trapped in hers. She remembered how small that hand had seemed when he'd reached out for her the first time. The serious little 'Mother' that had escaped his lips, "But you're not happy."

"Mother, I—."

"Don't you dare play hero, young man. Staying here, trapped in this house and at work is not helping you in the least," she interrupted firmly. The bout of reprimand gave her the vitality to do this. She could. He was giving up his happiness for her. She could send him on his way and be glad for it.

When his mouth shut with a barely audible clack of his teeth, she continued, "Your father is giving you a promotion. In four days' time you will take over for Madoka as the head of SPR in Japan."

She gave him a long moment to digest the words, to let them tumble around in his head until every bit made sense to him. His other hand clenched and unclenched spasmodically, then fanned out flat against his leg, white fingers against the black of his pants.

"Mother." One finger curled. She breathed in deeply. _Bum-bum._ Her heart in her throat, but she'd gotten used to breathing around it.

"I…" Another, his thumb tucked against his index. She felt her pulse rebound from his.

Silence. The last three, one by one, disappeared beneath his palm. He turned sad eyes to her.

"Thank you."

* * *

I just love writing Luella. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it!

Oh, and just one note from me as an author: Do not ever expect me to hold stories hostage for reviews. That's not how I operate. If you read my story and enjoy it, that's enough for me. It's why I bother posting them. Reviews are like pleasant surprises, as are favorites and follows. But my goal as an author is to write something that makes you feel, not become the most reviewed author on this site. If I've done that, then I'm content.

Okay, rant over. If you're wondering what prompted that, let's just say one too many authors have hijacked some really good stories for reviews, and that does not a happy NotHardlyCharlotte make.

As always, if you have any questions, concerns, or just feel like talking, shoot me a PM or review or carrier pigeon, and I'll try to get back to you when my computer no longer threatens to blow up!


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